FROM NO TO FOREVER

thoughts

Chapter 3:

The big door creaked open, and Mr. James my mom's assistant, stepped inside. He’d just come back from the Jacksons’ house, where he’d gone to discuss the marriage they were trying to arrange between me and their daughter. I wasn’t happy about it. Not one bit. My heart belonged to Stella, my everything, the one who made my pulse race. I didn’t want to hear another word about this marriage nonsense.

“Oh, James, come tell me what you talked about with the Jacksons!” my mother, Mrs. Carter, said, her voice sharp with excitement. She was sitting on the velvet couch in our massive living room, her hands clasped tightly like she was holding onto some grand plan.

I stood up to leave, already done with this conversation. But before I could take a step, my mother’s voice sliced through the air. “If you leave, Nicholas, I’ll freeze your credit cards. Sit. Now.”

I groaned, slumping back onto the sofa, my arms crossed. I didn’t care about her threats, but I wasn’t in the mood to deal with her drama either. “Fine,” I muttered, staring at the chandelier above like it was more interesting than this whole situation.

Mr. James cleared his throat, standing stiffly in his black suit. “Well, the Jacksons were very kind. Their daughter, Amaya, is as beautiful as her picture. She’s bold, confident, and the family is thrilled about the marriage.”

I rolled my eyes. Bold and beautiful? I didn’t care. I hadn’t even met her, and I didn’t want to.

“The only concern,” James continued, glancing at me cautiously, “is that Amaya was disappointed neither of you showed up to the meeting.”

I couldn’t hold back a scoff. “If she’s annoyed about that, then she should call off the marriage. Trust me, if we get married, she’ll be seeing a lot less of me.” I stood up, ignoring my mother’s glare, and stormed out of the room. I was done with this.

I hopped into my black Porsche, the engine roaring to life as I sped out of the driveway. The wind whipped through the open window, and for a moment, I felt free. I grabbed my phone and dialed Stella. “Babe, let’s meet at the hideout,” I said, my voice low, already picturing her smile.

The hideout was my sanctuary, a small house tucked away at the edge of town, hidden behind a cluster of tall oak trees. It was old but cozy, with weathered wooden walls and a slanted roof that creaked in the wind. The inside was simple: a single room with a worn leather couch, a small wooden table, and a fireplace that gave the place a warm glow when we lit it. Fairy lights were strung across the ceiling, casting a soft, golden light that made everything feel like a secret world just for us. The windows were small, draped with sheer curtains that let in just enough moonlight. It was our place, where no one—not my mother, not the Jacksons—could touch us.

I got there first and sat on the porch, legs crossed, leaning back in the old rocking chair. The night air was cool, and the crickets chirped softly in the distance. Then I saw her car pull up, and my heart skipped a beat.

Stella stepped out, and man, she was breathtaking. She wore a pink shirt dress that hugged her model-like figure, showing off her long, toned legs. The dress stopped just above her knees, and the way it moved with her was like something out of a magazine. Her body was perfection—curvy in all the right places, with a tiny waist and a grace that made every step look like a runway walk. Her face? Sharp and stunning. High cheekbones, full lips that curved into a teasing smile, and eyes so deep and brown they seemed to hold a thousand secrets. Her dark hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, catching the moonlight like silk.

“Hey, baby,” she said, her voice smooth as she walked toward me, that smile lighting up the night.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I stretched out my hands, pulling her onto my lap. She settled there, warm and soft, her arms wrapping around my neck. I buried my face in her hair, breathing in the sweet scent of her jasmine perfume. “It’s hard for me, Stella,” I whispered, my voice heavy. “You’re my only comfort right now. Be with me. Please.”

She hugged me tighter, her fingers tracing circles on my back. Then she pulled back, her eyes searching mine. “But why doesn’t your mom like me, Nic? Why can’t I be the one marrying you? I want to be yours. Please, let me be your wife.”

Her words hit me like a punch. I wanted that too—more than anything. But my mother’s voice echoed in my head, her threats about the Jacksons and their “perfect” daughter. I cupped Stella’s face, my thumb brushing her cheek. “You know I want that, Stella. You’re my world. But my mom… she’s got this idea in her head, and she won’t let it go.”

Stella’s eyes glistened, and she leaned her forehead against mine. “Then fight for me, Nic. Don’t let her win.”

I kissed her, slow and deep, trying to pour everything I felt into that moment. The hideout, our little haven, felt like the only place we could be us.